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— This is all your fault! — Raiden’s voice, now high-pitched, ringing, even slightly cracked, cut into Leon’s ears more painfully than any laser blast. He felt the fingers of his former enemy — now, technically, a woman and a fellow victim — digging into the lapel of his crimson uniform. She (and just a short while ago — he) stood right in front of him, wrapped in the tight blue uniform of the rebels, her breasts clearly pushing out under the fabric, stirring a strange awkward feeling inside, somewhere between memory and reality.
— Are you saying I was the one who hit the emergency airlock and trapped us in the commander’s cabin and activated the protocol? — Leon cut him off dryly, not breaking eye contact.
— I was trying to blow up this fucking ship, and then you showed up and ruined everything! Like always! Why the hell do you always get in my way?! — Raiden went on coolly, but his voice cracked, pitching up as if mocking him. He was trying to sound confident, shouting upward, because now he had to look at Leon slightly from below — he was shorter. This whole body felt like it had been designed just to humiliate him — the new hips strained his old pants and threw off his balance, while the uniform, once tailored for a male figure, now dug painfully under a pair of rather substantial tits that made it hard to even breathe steadily.
— Shit… — Raiden snorted and quickly let go of the lapel. In doing so, he accidentally brushed against his own protruding boobs and froze, pupils widening. A sudden jolt shot down his spine, like someone had shocked the new nerve endings. He instantly recoiled, clenched his hands into fists, and held back a moan.
— Done with your tantrum? — Leon asked coldly, not moving an inch.
— This isn't a tantrum, goddammit! — Raiden squealed, then winced as he heard his own high-pitched yapping instead of a proper angry growl.
Leon blinked, just barely.
— Synchronization protocol with the "female neuromatrix model", — he recited almost automatically, like reading a briefing. — The program’s old, but effective. Only a female hormonal map could activate the controls. Apparently, you fit the... parameters.
— What fucking parameters?! — Raiden shrieked, lifting his hands and staring at the thin fingers. — Did you see what that thing turned me into?!
— Including you, only two pairs survived on board. Out of those, only you met the criteria for emotional… plasticity.
Raiden shut his eyes and froze.
— Translate. Without the snobby bullshit.
— You’re impulsive, emotional, and unstable. The system figured you were the perfect fit for the role of "key". And I’m the "anchor". Together, we’re the required pair to launch control of the ARK-Orion.
Silence fell.
— I’m impulsive?! — Raiden exploded, throwing up his arms, then...